She Blamed it on my PTSD - Sex Stories

She Blamed it on my PTSD

... baseball requires that you go with big time prospects that are on major league team's radar? Did you know that his Uncle Les is the manager of the Detroit Tigers?

It's not that Teddy is not a good player, he's just twenty four and that's not how baseball works. I stay employed by paying attention to how I get prospects to come here, I have seven kids. Teddy Benedict is just not a hero today, he has been before and will be the rest of his life."

I was asked to the podium and the same reporter asked me about my game today.

I said, "I owe my life to Coach Gonsalves and Mrs. Gonsalves. I would not be alive today if they had not taken me in and fed my belly, heart and my soul. My game today kind of pales in that context really. I'm glad to have picked up the guys today. Coach said some nice things about me. But for me I love the program obviously and I'm going to be able to get a graduate degree in economics."

"Honestly I walked up to watch batting practice my freshman year and he started talking to me and from that I was on the team and I had somewhere to go on thanksgiving and Christmas. I did not before that."

Five years from now if I dropped on their doorstep as a hobo, again, they would take me in again and feed me and clothe me and fix my heart again."

The reporter followed up and asked, "You were homeless?"

I nodded and said nothing.

"Was that here?"

I said, "No I was sixteen. I grew up in Seattle, lost my parents and a brother in random deaths. ...

... Things got away from me there for a while, couldn't take care of myself. Slept in parks, took showers where the scuba divers would wash the saltwater off their wet suits. I stole food from grocery stores. Kind of dropped out. Ended up in the Navy. Got my three squares and clothes and had a job, it all worked out."

"Do you have a girlfriend," that was from a young woman on the school paper.

"Had one, but lost her to somebody else. Been a while."

That was the last time I played.

I enjoyed school for two more years getting the master's degree. I did date from time to time. Got close to one person. Her family was very rich and lived in Southern California.

I had this piece of pottery that sat on a table in the living room of my small apartment as I approached the end of my program. Her name was Beverley. We had spent a really nice evening out, dinner and a club for some jazz and we returned to my place and she was the first person since my breakup that I slept with. She was tender and aggressive and she was shocked by my strength as I picked her up and manhandled her to the point she begged me to stop, "No more, please."

There was one more for me and she fell asleep. I woke up to the smell of coffee, I still had the percolator. She came in carrying two mugs. She was wearing one of my Dirt Bags jerseys. She set the mugs down and picked up my piece of pottery and my wedding ring was in there and she pulled it out and held it up high, with her eyebrows raised in ...